They wobbled as they walked through the snow on their skates and then he stepped onto the ice. He smiled, enjoying the new texture of the ice beneath him. He’d forgotten just how much fun he’d had with this. He glided over the ice and then returned to help Flora onto it.
She stepped tentatively onto it and then stopped. “It’s slippery.”
“That’s the point.”
“But it’s very slippery.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised, not certain if he was only speaking about the ice.
She inhaled. “Very well. I suppose I could try.” She extended her hand to him, and he helped Flora all the way onto the ice.
He clasped her hand on his. She tightened her grip, and his stomach lurched. He inhaled, willing away the strange flutters in his heart, and guided her. Her legs were stiff, as if she’d locked them.
“I can’t move anywhere,” she said sternly. “It’s impossible.”
He grinned. “Not impossible.”
She craned her neck down to inspect her skates. “I’m sure there must be a better way to construct these.”
“They work fine. You just have to bend your knees slightly and move your feet to the right and left.”
THE MAN WAS IMPOSSIBLE. He seemed to think skating easy.
Flora inhaled the crisp air and gazed at her surroundings. The manor house was barely visible through the trees. Hills jutted up around the lake.
Flora stumbled, and for a horrible moment, she thought she would fall. It would not be the most dignified manner to behave before an earl. “I think people are supposed to learn skating when they’re younger.”
“I don’t know,” Wolfe said. “I think I’m enjoying it this way. I find this much more amusing.”
“Because I’m a taller person now and am more likely to have a more dramatic fall?”
“No, that’s not the reason.” She looked down at her hand. His hand was over hers.
She shivered and she thought it was not entirely because of the cold. This was about him. The thought thundered in her mind. She should not have found herself outside. Skating was a sport, but it had differed from any other she had known.
The butterflies that had fluttered through her body when she was five years old descended now, despite the frigid temperature.
“I should have invited you when we were children,” he said more seriously.
She shook her head. “I would have been too shy to say anything”
She directed her attention back to her skates. “Are you certain there is something amusing about this, or is the only amusement seeing other people fall?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I think it quite likely that I will fall soon.”
“You haven’t moved.”
“Standing here is actually quite difficult. I would appreciate a tree to hang onto.”
“I’m not a tree.” Wolfe smiled. “But you can take my hand, and I assure you it will be less painful than if you fall.”
“I suppose there’s some veracity in that statement.”
“Come,” Wolfe said. “We’ll proceed slowly.”
“Exceedingly slowly.”
“My preferred pace.”
“Very well.” Flora inched one skate forward and then slowly moved the other one to match it.
She took some steps tentatively on the ice.
“Good job,” he said, his voice full of encouragement.
She laughed. “You’re enjoying this.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. I’m glad to have something to teach you, since you’re giving your Christmas expertise.”
“I should never have mentioned that I hadn’t been ice skating before.”
“You’re sure you’re not enjoying this?”
She sighed. She was enjoying this. More than was proper. Her heart felt full.
“Excellent,” Wolfe said. “I can already see your talent.”
“Nonsense.”
Wolfe smiled. It seemed nice that they were smiling again.
“I’m sorry I lied,” Flora said, and her tone was more serious.
“You didn’t lie,” Wolfe said. “That was your business. You created the advert, and we answered it. Though perhaps I should ask Harrison to do more thorough checks in the future. We were perhaps so eager to secure your services that we may have been a bit lax.”
“You don’t mind I’m not what you expected?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Flora’s feet wobbled. For a moment she’d forgotten she was on skates, but Wolfe put his hands around her waist and steadied her. She was aware of just how tall the man was, and she tilted her head up so as to see all of him.
His eyes were kind. They’d been kind even when he was younger. He brushed away a lock of her hair. “Now you can see better.” Then he rearranged her hat.
Flora’s heart thundered in her chest. The gesture shouldn’t have meant so much. He was just being gentlemanly.
And yet she was aware even in the wind of his masculine scent that sent more flutters through her body. She glanced up at his profile, noting his chiseled features.
He was older than before, but it was him. It was Wolfe, no matter how nicely he dressed himself now, no matter that this whole place was now his.
Longing rushed through her. His eyes seemed to soften, and then even though she was certain he was much taller than she was, his lips moved toward her.
Was he going to kiss her? Was she closing the distance? Was he reading her mind? It seemed like he was narrowing the distance.
The thought was ridiculous. They were of such different classes. Her heart shouldn’t be thudding in her chest as if the world might change. Even though she’d thought she’d mastered the art of skating, for some reason even standing on her skates seemed risky, and her knees threatened to buckle.
She averted her eyes, not because she didn’t want to look, to see the gold rim around the green irises, but because she didn’t want to be foolish. If she saw tenderness there, it must be her imagination, or it must be simply the tenderness a kind man might have for a wounded animal.
And then she fell.
Inelegantly.
“Fiddle-faddle,” she said.
The moment was broken.
“I let go of your hand,” Wolfe said apologetically. “It was my fault.”
“You were arranging my hat.”
“Yes.”
They didn’t mention what else it seemed he was doing. Perhaps it was her imagination. It had to be her imagination. After all, he was an earl, and she was his servant. He was handsome and brilliant, and any lady would be happy to have him.
He probably had had many women in his life. Women who didn’t spend their days working and their nights tucked into attics, sharing beds with other servant girls.
And yet her heart still thudded.
“Perhaps we should return,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ve done standing. That’s excellent progress. We can move to skating another time.”
“I did move that inch.”
“Yes,” he said merrily. “Yes. You’ve gone skating. I should go back too. I have much work to do.”
“Truly? You brought work with you.”
“Yes,” he said, though he didn’t quite meet her eyes. “After all, I run a very large, very prestigious organization. I have much to do.”
“Naturally,” she said, and she was once again aware of the disparities between them. She must have imagined the almost kiss.
She wasn’t prone to imagining things, but surely it must be something that would occur to everyone, sometime.
Or perhaps it was simply the power of Christmas, that made even the most unlikely things seem possible. Perhaps not all Christmas magic was good.
She turned her head sharply. “Those trees look quite interesting.”
“Well, they look like the other trees,” he said. “But yes, they are interesting, I suppose.”
&nbs
p; His tone was all politeness, but she refused to blush.
“I thought we could use it as a Christmas tree.”
He blinked. “What on earth is that?”
“The royals have it.”
“I did not know you were acquainted with the whims of the royals.”
“Well, I am acquainted with the whims of Germans, and it was popular in Bavaria to bring trees indoors and decorate them.”
“I see. The regent also favors making his pavilion look like the Taj Mahal, but that doesn’t mean we have to do that.”
“I didn’t know you were so fond of his pavilion.”
His face blushed.
“I’m not here to discuss the finer architectural details of the pavilion,” she said.
“Why on earth would people want to bring trees indoors?” he asked.
She swallowed hard, for a moment not quite sure why it was so very popular to bring Christmas trees indoors. Perhaps it was an odd notion. Perhaps he was correct to be skeptical.
“The tree will survive with just a bit of water,” she said. “If we can find a way to prop it up, it will be quite pleasant to look at, and we can hang all sort of baubles on it.”
“I’m not sure I’m convinced.”
“You don’t have to be. You’re paying me to know what to do.”
His face definitely seemed to be ruddier.
“Now, do you know where to find an ax, or should I find your woodman?”
He cleared his throat. “You may ask the housekeeper for help in locating the woodman tomorrow morning and instruct him on which tree to cut.”
She blinked. “Of course. You’re quite busy.”
“Yes,” he said curtly.
THE DAY HAD TURNED awkward, and he lengthened his strides. The snow crunched beneath them, sounding awkwardly into the air. How had he come from suggesting skating to almost kissing her?
He quickened his strides to the manor house.
He’d had such an urge to kiss her. If she hadn’t fallen, he would have. He could still imagine how her lips might taste, how it might feel to run his hands through her hair and he could still remember how it felt to clasp her dainty waist in his hands.
He couldn’t go about kissing her. She worked for him. The thought of kissing her was preposterous.
He was not going to be one of those men. He’d thought he would ask her to dine with him. Her position was different from that of a mere maid. Sometimes he dined with Harrison, but now Harrison was away, still finalizing things at Hades’ Lair. Dining alone wasn’t something he embraced, and they still had a lot to talk about. It would practically be a business meeting.
And yet... He turned to her. All that he thought about was the shape of her small nose, the smoothness of her cheeks, and the manner they had pinkened because of the frosty temperature.
When they returned to the manor house, he did not invite her to dine with him.
Chapter Thirteen
I should have asked her to dine with me.
He’d felt bound by a propriety he hadn’t known he subscribed to.
Since when had she become so beautiful? She’d seemed ordinary in London, a poor testament to his powers of observation. Now he was conscious of the particular energy she brought and recognized it as improper. The night before though they’d dined at the public house together.
The following afternoon, when he next saw her, he did not hesitate to speak with Flora. “Have dinner with me.”
“Truly?”
“I don’t have anyone else to have dinner with,” he said hastily. “Besides, we can make it a business meeting. You can tell me about your ideas for the ball, and we can see how we can have it.”
She nodded. “Very well.”
AN ADVANTAGE OF NOT having many clothes was that Flora did not have to worry about what to wear. She chose her nicest dress, the one she’d planned to wear at the ball. Not that she would be dancing. She would be speaking with the servants and making certain the ball was going smoothly.
She washed first, and then she took off her morning dress and slipped on her best dress. It was a respectable black, though the color had long ago faded. In certain lights it appeared blue, and in others brown. It would have to do. She placed a lace collar around her neck that she hoped improved it, and then she swept her hair up into a knot.
Her hair appeared harsh, and she frowned. Perhaps she could do something more elegant. She always wore a stern knot, but she knew how to do many hairstyles. Perhaps she could do one on herself.
She borrowed some curling tongs. She was unused to using them at this angle, but she found the procedure somehow relaxing. It was nice to have something else to concentrate on, and she smiled when she saw herself in the mirror.
She should be thinking about the food, that promised to be more delicious than anything she encountered in the servants’ quarter, but the thoughts in her mind were not of the food, but of dining with the earl.
Finally, she entered the dining room.
The man was handsome, unnervingly so. Candlelight imbued the room with a warmth she did not associate with the manor house. She wondered what it would look like when the candelabras also had Christmas decorations. There wasn’t any music, and it was just them, but it still seemed wonderful.
The earl appeared regal. He seemed more somber, and his smile was less wide than before. He’d also dressed for dinner, even though she was just a servant, and surely it would not have been strictly necessary. Silver cufflinks gleamed under the candlelight.
WHEN WOLFE SAW HER enter the room, he knew dinner was a bad idea after all. It had seemed to make sense at the time. He had wanted to prolong the joy of the day, and they did, after all, need to talk. Why not when they were eating?
It was a simple practicality. A mathematical solution.
And yet, nothing about her reminded him of mathematics. She was beautiful. She’d worn a different gown, though equally plain, embellished by a simple lace collar around her neck that made his chest tighten. He considered whether it had been expensive for her. It might be nice to buy her something beautiful. He imagined visiting the haberdashery, but rather than selecting ribbons for candelabras and chandeliers, they would select ribbons for her.
Her hair was arranged beautifully. No earrings, no necklace, and no fan obscured her. She didn’t sparkle by other means, but solely by some light within her. It was odd that he’d had dinners with dozens of beautiful women over the years, often in his private apartments, and yet he wasn’t sure they affected him in the same manner as she did.
He jumped to his feet, conscious he’d been too late in greeting her, lost in his own thoughts. He helped her into a seat. Something flickered on the footman’s face, but then the food arrived.
The food was probably delicious, but he couldn’t taste it. The only thing he concentrated on was Flora herself. She appeared beautiful.
He directed the conversation to the Christmas ball, lest he continue to compliment her. Such a thing might cause even the most stalwart footman to raise his eyebrow. He was having dinner, that was all.
“Why are you hosting the Christmas ball?” Flora asked after a while.
“You think it unusual for an unmarried man?”
“I wasn’t dwelling on the fact that you were unmarried,” she said.
“My sister is also unmarried,” he said. “My friend, the Duke of Vernon, was supposed to marry her. But she ran off with—”
“My mistress,” Flora said, and her cheeks pinkened. “I know.”
“Unfortunately, my sister did not know until after they were married.”
Flora looked down. “That must have been painful.”
“Presumably,” Wolfe mused.
Flora tilted her head. “You don’t know?”
“She expressed anger.”
“Tears?”
“I wouldn’t tell you that.”
“Of course. Forgive me.”
He sighed. “Actually... There weren’t any tears. She knew him
only as a childhood friend who seemed terribly inefficient in setting a date.” He shrugged. “Marriages have been built on much less.”
“They’ve also been built on much more.”
“Well. She can have her pick of people at the ball.”
Flora smiled.
“Why does that amuse you?”
“Lady Isla has been to balls before. And from everything I’ve heard, she has no problem shining at them.”
“She is a good McIntyre.”
Flora continued to scrutinize him.
“What are you thinking?” Wolfe asked, even though he was not certain he wanted to know.
“I think you want to have her here. I think it’s not about getting to marry her off at all.”
“Nonsense.” He shook his head rapidly.
The footman took away their plates. They’d finished dinner.
It was time for Wolfe to excuse himself, but he found himself lingering. “May I see the ballroom?”
“Naturally,” she said. “I’ve been adding garlands to it.”
They left the dining room, and he followed Flora through the corridors toward the ballroom. She moved gracefully, and her form was delicate and shapely.
Flora opened the heavy wooden door to the ballroom.
“It’s wonderful,” Wolfe murmured.
He’d always intended to compliment her, knowing she’d been working hard on it, but it truly was magnificent. The once plain room was transformed. Perhaps the fireplace did not have any carvings in its stone, and perhaps the walls were not paneled with elaborate wood designs, but it didn’t matter. Mistletoe, holly and ivy hung from the ceiling.
He inhaled the scent of cloves and cinnamon, oranges and all manner of greenery.
“It’s spectacular,” he murmured.
“I’m glad,” she said. “Some people consider it bad luck to hang greenery before Christmas, but I was hardly going to have the servants do it right on Christmas.”
She was so beautiful. Golden light from the candles flickered over her skin. It danced in her hair and over her cheeks, and he wanted to touch it. He wanted to touch her.
Lords, Snow and Mistletoe Page 24
